


Here in the Firelight

by grandfatherclock



Series: Here Amongst Wolves [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: The snow was starting tofall, and Mollymauk wasdead, and Beau wasalone.Or, the Empire kids find each other, in every universe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smokeandjollyranchers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeandjollyranchers/gifts).



> Welcome to a fun little AU I've been cooking up with some people from the Widojest server ;)
> 
> The premise? The group finds Caleb and Nott much, much later.

Mollymauk was _dead_.

Beau stared disbelievingly at his still body, the blood spilling over and staining the snow, already tainted by the wet overflowing mud by the road, and she didn’t quite realize she was sinking to her knees until she felt the hard ground underneath her, scraping her skin. Her hands were over her mouth, and she was trying to suppress a ragged, choked _sob—_

His eyes were still open, was the thing, and there was still a small, shit-eating grin on his face. She shook her head a little, hating how every part of her was trembling. That _fucking_ bastard never did _anything_ the convenient way, so maybe if she stared long enough, or if she fucking prayed, to Ioun or anybody who would _fucking_ listen, maybe something could happen. She’d read about miracles when she was with the monks, and she desperately wracked her brain, trying to remember what they’d said about reviving the fallen. Not that it would matter, since they’d need a _cleric…_ he’d come back _before_ , she couldn’t just _bury_ him in a _ditch_ if he’d come back _before_ …

Beau didn’t realize Keg was beside her, until she felt a trembling, hesitant hand on her shoulder.

She immediately whirled around, and, her mind blank with rage, and her fists shaking, she grabbed Keg by her shoulder and slammed her into the ground. She leaned close, and glared into Keg’s terrified brown eyes, and hissed, each word slow and deliberate in her rough voice, “Did you _know_?”

Keg’s face had whitened with fear. She bit the inside of her cheek, but her arms didn’t move to push her off. “I don’t _—please_ , Beau, I didn’t _—_ ” Her eyes were sad, and desperate. _I didn’t know, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t mean to be a coward, I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t—_

Beau hated the sound of her name on Keg’s lips. She hated the pity in Keg’s eyes, and she hated how her hand, gripping the front of Keg’s armor, was shaking, despite all her fucking bravado. She hated a lot of things, which was something she’d always known about herself, but looking at Mollymauk, she realized she deeply hated that she was a hateful kind of person. She remembered Keg, with her hands trembling with her javelin, and she could just _feel_ her anger washing over her again, and again, and _again_ , and she wondered if it was possible to die from rage, to suffocate from hatred. She could just _hear_ Molly in the back of her head, examining his nails and saying, _Calm down, unpleasant one_. Despite all his bullshit, he was the softer one, of their little duo. He’d always been the softer one. “ _Did you know Lorenzo could do magic?_ ” she snarled.

Keg shook her head frantically. “I didn’t know,” she said, and then Keg was also blinking back tears, and Beau wondered if the expression on her face was familiar, if Keg saw it sometimes when she looked in the mirror. “I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t _know_ , Beau. I’m sorry, I” _—_ she roughly wiped the moisture building in her eyes by the back of her hand, as she repeated her apology again, and again _—_ “ _fuck_. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Beau gritted her teeth. She knew in her heart of hearts that Keg was telling the truth, from all her experience in her life being totally full of shit, and she knew pinning her to the ground, and screaming at her, at the one person in this world who was even remotely on her side in any tangible sense, was a complete waste of time, and a total waste of effort. She knew that being pissed at Keg would not do anything to bring Molly, that _fucker_ , back to life, or make Fjord and Jester and Yasha ( _Oh god, Yasha_ ) any less enslaved, but— “I’m taking back his fucking tapestry. He was _my_ friend, not yours.” Keg was silent as Beau let go of her, and stalked over to the horse that had that _ridiculous_ tapestry with the Platinum Dragon iconography strewn all over it. It was a mess of colours, just a total headache to look at, and she grabbed it, and she held it, and steeled herself, forcing herself not to immediately burst into tears again. She was all alone, she was all alone, _she was all alone…_

“We can’t just stay here,” Keg said, quietly. She sat up on her knees, looking so small and vulnerable in the snow, and rubbed the back of her head, before scratching at her scruff nervously. There was blood stained over the right side of her armor, now dried, a reminder of just how much worse it could’ve gotten, and Beau remembered Keg kneeling down in front of Lorenzo, with his glaive still bloodied, and she clenched her hands into fists.

“We can’t _bury_ him,” she retorted, her voice a little frantic. “He—he woke up _before_ , he could—” At Keg’s sad, unbelieving expression, Beau narrowed her eyes and dragged the tapestry to Molly’s body, trying not to wince at how it became a little wet and ruined as it came in contact with the muddied snow. She couldn’t hold it all by herself, alone, because she _was alone now_ , but she hated the idea of Keg touching it even more than it being stained. She could just _imagine_ Molly groaning, hands over his face, his nails painted some garish color, and her lips momentarily quirked up a little. “I’m not _crazy_.” _Fuck_ , Molly would’ve had a field day with that too, raising an eyebrow and opening his mouth, with some clever little dig already prepared, like it always was when it came to her, and—he was _everywhere_ , in _everything_ , except where she fucking needed him. Breathing, beside her. She remembered his face, in the light of the fire, asking her with his red eyes playful, his head tilted, _What’s the best lie you’ve ever told?_ She stared at the smug smile on his dead body, and then down at her bloodied, fucked up knuckles, and thought, _Fuck you._

“If he came back before, he can dig himself out,” Keg said, biting her lower lip. She sounded exhausted, and her eyes flitted nervously, looking on either sides of the dirt road. “I don’t”—she looked back in the direction the Iron Shepherds had left, to Shady Creek Run—I don’t know _what_ to do. They’re too powerful.” She looked at Molly, at the wounds from Lorenzo’s glaive, at the red staining the white of his shirt, and he had always been so _careful_ about his clothes, and Keg looked away, shame all over her face. Beau found a sick kind of pleasure in that, which was another reminder of how much she was lacking. “It was only a _month_ , how could—” She put her hands over her face, and her entire body seemed to tremble. Beau could feel the anguish ripping out of her small form, and wondered whose face she was seeing behind her now closed eyes.

Beau looked down at Molly, and then exhaled, letting go of the breath she was holding. Bracing herself, she leaned back down and began to hesitantly move aside his coat, and search through his pockets. “When you come back,” she said to him, trying not to feel too sick as she found his cards and his coin purse and some of his gaudy little trinkets, “I’ll, uh. Pay you back. I need this shit to save our friends.” She unlatched the periapt from around his neck almost reverently, and stared at the blood-red gem. He’d died to save her life. She aggressively wiped the tears that were spilling from her eyes despite all her intentions, and tied it around her neck. She looked at Keg, and there was something draining, about holding his cards in her hand and wearing his periapt on her. “He told me he left every town better than he found it, you know,” she rasped. She coughed, clearing her throat. She was _alone_ , and Mollymauk was _dead._ “I didn’t—I didn’t fucking believe him until last night.”

Keg stared at her, uncomprehending. She bit her bottom lip, like she didn’t quite know what to say, what she could do to make this, _any_ of this, even slightly better.

Beau just shook her head. She wondered if it would be presumptuous, to take his coat. She thought of all his fucking teasing, about how she needed to get over himself, and how she needed to let go and appreciate everything more, and wondered what he would’ve made of his colors on her. Keg cleared her throat, and she _knew_ time was passing, she could fucking _tell_ , with the snow slowly accumulating and hiding the red, but all she could do in that moment was continue to think about royalty and the tapestry and all his _fucking_ trinkets.

The sky slowly began to darken, and Beau, squaring her shoulders despite her desire to tear up, made a decision.

 

She stared down at the hole they’d dug for him, and took a trembling breath, hating what she knew they would soon have to do. She gave Keg a look, and scratching her arms, demanded for the second time, or perhaps the third, “You’re _sure_ there aren’t any—like, miracle workers?” There was an undercurrent of despair in her voice that she fucking hated.

Keg clenched her jaw, but it was out of tension as she looked to the setting sun than out of frustration towards Beau. “Only the important families,” she said. The orange light made her tanned skin seem to glow, despite all the scars and scratches and imperfections. There was something a little lilting to her voice, and it was painfully familiar to Beau. The sound of a very ungentle person trying to be gentle. “I’ve heard of some, uh. Heretics in the surrounding forest. We didn’t… that was Mardun territory.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “We didn’t dare go too close to that part of the Savalierwood.”

Beau closed her eyes, and forced her racing, desperate thoughts to still, and began to pull Molly’s body, which she’d wrapped in his tapestry, into the hole she’d spend several hours digging with Keg. It hadn’t been a very clever idea—every hour they spent out in the snow was an hour wasted, an hour her friends were _enslaved_ —but it was wrong to leave his body out, exposed to the elements, and she hoped he would now be undisturbed, despite the fact that the grave they’d dug for him wasn’t nearly as deep as she would’ve hoped, given the time they’d put in. She looked to the golden sword in her hand, which she’d in the last second taken off his still form, and she exhaled. _It’s yours when you wake up, asshole_. She couldn’t—Molly was _dead_. Molly was dead, and she was _alone_. Fjord wasn’t here to calm her down and help her express what she wanted to say. Jester wasn’t here to soften her rough edges, and _Yasha_ —tears welled back up in her eyes, and she shook her head to herself, ignoring Keg’s look—Yasha had just lost everything, and she didn’t even know it. Beau had to be the responsible one. Beau had to be the one who pulled it together and saved the rest of the team… Her team with the shitty name.  _The Mighty Five_. She let out a breathless little laugh, weak in her throat, at the memory of how they’d chosen it. Molly had argued with them, snapping that Yasha was just as much a member as any, and while everyone had bitched and argued in front of Bryce Feelid in Alfield, who’d looked suitably horrified, Fjord had silently signed their name so they could get their gold, sighing as Jester beamed and suggested, _Jester’s Angels_.

“You’re really going,” Keg said, softly. There was something a little like wonder in her coarse, flat voice. It was strange to hear, and it was stranger still that someone could direct that towards _her_.

Beau opened her eyes, and looked at her wearily, shrugging slightly. “They’re all I have,” she said simply. She set the sword down on the ground carefully, remembering how much Molly had adored it and rushed to claim it, and began using both hands to pull on his form. She stiffened for only a second, when she saw Keg walk to the other side, and help her move him. “You coming or not?” She didn’t bother trying to hide her desperation anymore. Her friends were more important than her fucking pride.

Keg froze for a second, her eyes widening, before she continued to pull. After a pause, she muttered, a lilt to her voice like she couldn’t quite believe what she herself was saying, “I’m coming.”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “You won’t run?” Her voice was harsh, but that was because her voice was always harsh. There was no more challenge there, no more bluster. There would be time for that later, when all her friends were safe and happy and she could make sure no one could grab them in the middle of the night. Her voice was flat, and her question was analytical, her mind whirring as she considered the logistics.

Keg kind of shrank into herself at Beau’s accusatory, cold look. “I ran before,” she said, and Beau remembered, from earlier, when Molly was _alive_ , and examining his nails distractedly, the visual emanating calm though she could see from his shoulders slightly trembling that he was fucking aghast, that Keg mentioned a friend, someone who had died. “I won’t—I’m a fucking _coward_ , but, I, uh.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, before opening them to meet Beau’s determined stare. “I won’t run.”

She took a ragged breath, nodded. _Good enough._ She then looked down, and began to bury her friend. One of her only friends. Mollymauk Tealeaf. She tried not to prickle at the sensation of dirt under her fingernails, as she slowly saw him, who’d been so fucking alive and bright just a day ago, disappear into the ground. _I’ll find you again_ , she thought fiercely, as she pushed the dirt on top of him. _I’ll see you again, you motherfucker_. She pushed, and she pushed, and she pushed, and Keg didn’t mention her spilling, angry tears.

When they’d done the best they could to fill the hole and leave as many layers of earth between Molly and the outside world, Beau took a shaking breath, and moved to pick up the coat she’d taken off of him earlier, that was next to the gaudy, glistening sword. She held it in her arms, and it smelled like incense, and a little like blood, and she breathed it in, trying not to wince. She closed her eyes, and she put it on.

Keg didn’t so much as quirk her lips, but Beau knew she must’ve looked ridiculous. Molly’s coat was fucking hideous, and it didn’t match her cobalt blue vestments at _all_ , and yet, despite all the uncertainty she’d felt when she’d initially removed it off his body, and put it on, she _knew_ he would’ve loved how horribly uncomfortable she was. “Never getting a lady, wearing this shit,” she muttered, to the soft bump in the smooth roll of the hill where they’d buried one of the weirdest people she’d had the pleasure of meeting.

“That’s, uh… loud,” Keg said. She didn’t sound necessarily critical, though she nervously kicked a small rock that was next to her, and watched it roll to the side. “When we get to Shady Creek Run—”

“They’d recognize it,” Beau said, rubbing her neck. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll take it off when we get closer.” She examined one of the ruined, bloodied sleeves and frowned. “I want to wear it when I kill that _fucker_. For Molly.” It felt raw, to say his name. She tilted her head to Keg, trying to distract herself from her own heartbreak. “What was your friend’s name?”

Keg stared at her, with wide, considering eyes. After a moment, she muttered, “His name was Yuto.”

She nodded. “For Molly and Yuto.”

Keg looked like her heart kind of broke when Beau said that name. She took a shaking breath, and then hesitated for just a second, before offering her hand.

Beau walked over to her, and never breaking eye contact, shook it. They stared at each other, and Beau wondered what Fjord would’ve made of her little alliance. She wondered if he would’ve been impressed. She wondered if he would’ve been proud. She thought of him in chains, with bloodied gashes all over his body, and she promised herself she would soon find out.

 

They were soon joined by another. Her name was Nila, she had extremely soft ears, and those _bastards—_

Beau winced, and exchanged a horrified look with Keg. Those bastards had taken her son, and her mate. Her little five year old boy. Nila smiled a little when she spoke of him, her hands trembling and twitching a little, reaching for someone who was far beyond her reach. She was more than seven feet tall, and from the same tribe as Jumnda, and she’d watched the bloodbath, and her eyes were brimming with empathy, and Keg doubted she had the fortitude to take on Lorenzo, but—

“You can do magic?” Beau said, raising both her eyebrows. Her mind was already racing. She and Keg were melee fighters, and on her good days she was pretty competent, but Lorenzo had magic users, and Lorenzo _was_ a magic user… She winced, remembering how cold air had blasted from his hands, ripping into her, and into _Molly_. Her heart clenched with hatred.

Nila nodded, and talked about how she could summon lightning from the sky and fucking _fry_ Lorenzo where he stood, with a rage glittering in her sweet eyes that was in some ways achingly familiar, and in some ways totally alien, and Beau was fucking _sold_. She wondered, distantly, what her mother’s face must’ve looked like when Beau had been taken, and she laughed a little bitterly to herself.

Nila and Keg looked at each other as she did, and Keg muttered to her, “It’s been a day.”

Nila nodded, though from her wrinkled nose she didn’t quite understand what Keg was trying to say. “It _has_ been a day,” she said, agreeably.

Keg groaned.

As they readied themselves, and Nila got up onto the third horse ( _Molly’s_ horse, her mind helpfully reminded her), Keg walked over to her, leaned close, and muttered, quietly, “You’re interested in magic?” Her brown eyes flitted nervously, and Beau intimately understood the face of someone who was sitting on information they weren’t quite sure they wanted to share.

Beau straightened her back, and nodded. “We need all the fucking magic we’ve got,” she said, crossing her arms. Keg kind of stared at them, and despite this horrible situation Beau had to smirk. She raised an eyebrow, and looked at Keg critically. “Got something you want to share?”

Keg squirmed a little, and played with the pendant tied to the base of her battleaxe, running one hand through her greasy hair. “I don’t—it’s a _long shot_.” She widened her eyes for emphasis. “I don’t know that she’d go for it, but—”

“ _She_?” Beau grabbed Keg by her shoulders, and gazed at her intently. She tried not to sound too hopeful. “You mean, you have an ally who can do magic?”

Keg shook her head frantically, and rubbed her stubble. “ _Gods_ , no.” She wrung her hands nervously. “I have _no_ allies in that place.” She let out a breathless little laugh, like there was no air in her lungs. “ _Plenty_ of enemies. You’re doing something for Ophelia Mardun, right?”

Beau nodded, clenching her jaw as she remembered the deal _the Mighty Five_ , now a glorious mighty _one_ , had struck with the Gentlemen. At the moment, Ophelia fucking Mardun was the _last_ thing on her mind. “We have a contract,” she said, massaging her temple.

Keg played with a loose strap in her armor, looking away from Beau’s undoubtedly intense gaze. She rummaged through one of her pockets, and Beau watched as she straightened her back, triumphantly looking at a cigarette that she’d found. “She has a… uh. She has a wizard. I don’t—I’ve heard _stories_ , and I've met him, but.” She exhaled. “I don’t know that he’s like, _incredibly_ powerful, but, uh.” She sighed, placing the cigarette in her mouth. “His name is Caleb Widogast, and he’s a _fucking_ asshole.”

Beau stalked over to her horse, biting her lip. “Asshole,” she repeated, and then she smirked, a little. The horse neighed anxiously beside her, and she patted him on his side distractedly. “I don’t give a fuck if he’s an _asshole_ , but you think he’d care about the _Iron Shepherds_?”

Keg followed her, and shrugged. She looked unhappy that Beau had latched onto this idea. “Listen, I don’t”—she grimaced, as she struggled to light her cigarette—“he wouldn’t be _happy_ to see me. I don’t _know_ that he’d care about the Iron Shepherds, but he’s with an opposing family. I also don’t know that we _want_ him on our side?”

Beau stared at her disbelievingly, and then gestured to where they’d buried Molly. There was no need for her to place a marker quite yet—they hadn’t buried Molly deep enough that it would be too difficult for grave robbers to expose his still form to the biting cold air, and Beau had promised herself she would come back, and give him a better gravesite. “We want _anyone_ , Keg.” She tried not to wince at the crack in her voice.

Keg raised her hands defensively, the guilt all over her face again. “You haven’t grown up in Shady Creek Run,” she muttered, biting her lower lip. She kind of winced, like she was recalling a particularly painful memory. “I’ve seen some shit.”

Beau got up onto her horse, giving herself a moment to adjust to the new position, before looking back down at Keg. “I want to know all these stories,” she said, and Keg clenched and unclenched her jaw, rubbing the back of her head nervously. She narrowed her eyes as Keg averted her gaze. “You can tell Nila and I on the way.”

Nila said, running her hands over her horse’s mane (which all used to be _Molly’s_ ), “I’d also like to know.” Her voice was achingly gentle, with a soft tremble near the end, and she reminded Beau a little of Jester.

“I don’t know that the Marduns would go for it,” Keg said, warningly. She scratched her neck a little, anxious. “I don’t—maybe if you do the favor she needs, she could offer some of her _men…_ ”

Beau jutted out her chin in the direction the Iron Shepherds had gone, and raised her eyebrow at Keg. “On the way.”

Keg sighed, looking extremely sorry she’d even brought the name up, and Beau crossed her arms contemplatively. _Caleb Widogast_. Zemnian. His name positively reeked of the Empire, and she wondered what pathway led a Dwendalian wizard to work for a crime family in a lawless town. She’d soon find out more, find out what she needed to, find out what would make him do what she needed from him, when she heard more from Keg, and picked up information when they made it to Shady Creek Run. She looked at the curve in the ground that was Mollymauk, and blinked back tears, before looking back to the open road.

 _Don’t worry_ , she thought, to her friends, shackled far, far away. _I’m an asshole, too_.


	2. Chapter 2

They’d been travelling for about an hour when they came across the bodies. They were left on the side of the road, like they were _nothing_ , like they were  _trash_ , with visible sword wounds, their entire bodies looking utterly _soaked_ , and—

Lorenzo, with his palms out. Cold air blasting out at them, out at Mollymauk, who was _dead_ , and at Beau, who was _alone_ , and out towards his seemingly empty cart, which she and Molly had agreed probably held the people they had kidnapped. Magic. _So they have magic_ , Beau had said, her eyes darting down to look at Lorenzo’s troupe from their hidden position, her shoulders shaking with a barely contained fury. Molly had nodded. There had been so many little warnings, but they’d been so _fucking_ desperate.

There were three of them. Three bodies, left in the road. Two were humans—a man that looked about middle-aged and a younger woman, with streaming blonde hair that was stained red. The third was a half-elf, with a youthful face that might’ve been bright when he’d been breathing. Beau looked at them, and blinked quickly, blinked away tears, before angling her horse to stop Keg and Nila from continuing on. “It’s late,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. The last thing she needed were her tentative allies thinking she was too weak to do the job. Nila kind of tilted her head, her dark glittering eyes worried, and Beau gave her a hesitant nod. She hoped it was reassuring, though she kind of doubted it. “We have to bury them.” She jutted out her chin, trying to exude a certainty she didn’t feel.

Nila looked at her for what seemed like a long second, and then nodded, getting off her horse immediately, and Beau followed suit. Keg watched them for a moment, before dismantling off, and walking next to Beau, careful to move around the corpses. She said, as they began to move the bodies off the road, “Look, I don’t _mean_ to be an asshole, but every hour we spend out _here_ —”

“Is an hour we aren’t freeing my friends,” Beau finished, clenching her jaw. One of the sleeves of Molly’s gaudy coat brushed against the muddy snow, and Beau pulled her arm back, looking at the stain that was forming with a frown on her lips. “I _know_ , Keg.” She looked up, out at the darkening sky, and said, hesitantly, despite her desire to keep going forward, “It’s too dangerous to keep travelling in the night. We should camp out here.” _If we’d taken a little more time before, everything would’ve been different_ , she thought miserably, to herself, to Mollymauk. She imagined him smirking a little, crossing his arms. _When have we ever done_ _that?_ he would've purred.

“With the dead bodies,” Keg muttered. Her eyes flitted nervously, looking in both directions that the dirt road was stretching. She rubbed the back of her head, and wiped the sweat off her brow. “Next to the road is, uh. _Risky_. All kinds of unsavory folk.”

Beau looked to a hill a little farther away. “We’ll have cover.” She looked to Keg’s hesitant face, and arched an eyebrow. “They’re somebody’s _Molly_ , Keg. Somebody’s _Yuto_.” Keg looked like Beau just hit her, and she refused to allow her gaze to waver. Keg shrank into herself, and, feeling satisfied, Beau looked to Nila. She smiled back at her a little sadly, one of her ears twitching, and Beau continued, trying to make her rough voice as gentle as she could, “Somebody’s _Asar_.”

Keg nodded, and looked down at her bloodied armor. “Yeah,” she said, a little roughly, clenching her hands into fists. “I just—when we get to Shady Creek Run, you’re gonna have to”—she paused, scratching at her stubble, searching for the right words—“uh. There’s a lot of lost causes. We need to be _focused_.”

Beau nodded, and wrung the moisture out of the sleeve of the coat. She still wasn’t used to it, to all that _fucking_ color every time she happened to look down at herself, but it didn’t make her want to cry, either. She was slowly becoming numb, the sadness settling into her bones, and she wondered if this was just how it would always be for her. She’d ask Fjord, but Fjord was _gone_ , and Jester, who had such unexpectedly insightful advice, was also _gone_ , and Yasha, whose companionable silence made her feel all sorts of ways, was _gone_ , and Beau was fucking _alone_. “I’m _focused_ , Keg.” She looked back at the dripping bodies, and at the first hole Nila was already starting to dig, her tall form bending down, and she cleared her throat, trying to think of business, of everything she needed to know about from Keg. “Speaking of which. Tell me _everything_ about this wizard, and about the Marduns.”  _Tell me about his magic_. _Tell me what he can do, tell me how he can help us, tell me how I can make him help us_ — Tell me as we dig.”

Keg nodded, and Beau handed her one of the shovels that Fjord had bought in Zadash. Her lips kind of quirked up at the memory. Jester had bought what were ostensibly sunflower seeds from some vendor, and she’d wanted to plant them wherever they went. Beau had been about to interject that maybe leaving a tangible trail in every place they travelled _wasn’t_ the best idea, until Yasha had quietly asked what colors sunflowers were. Beau had then bought more seeds, and  _Molly_ … Molly had rolled his eyes, calling her absolutely _useless_. She winced, as she heard Keg hitting the ground, interrupting the warmth of the memory, and Beau leaned down with her own shovel, and began to help. As their heads were facing down, close to each other, Keg said, “The Marduns are one of the biggest crime families in Shady Creek Run. They _hate_ the Jagentoths, who I worked for, before, uh.” She winced. “ _Yuto_.” She took a ragged breath, and then steeled herself, squaring her shoulders and clenching her jaw. “I hear they have competitive business arrangements in the big cities, like Zadash.  _Maybe_ Rexxentrum.” She shrugged. “Didn’t tell me much. Wasn’t that interested. All the families have healers, and magic users. Most of them are hidden. You don’t give away your advantages.” She laughed a little bitterly. “They even hide it from their own people. But, uh. Widogast… he does what he likes.”

There was a tense silence, and then Beau raised an eyebrow and demanded, “Why?” Her rough voice interrupted the ominous pause that had set over them as Keg revealed exactly how much of a long shot this potential _ally_ was. She stared at the muddy ground, where the snow had melted, before shaking her head. _Fuck that_. She didn’t give a fuck who the Marduns, or Widogast, thought they were. She was going to save her friends, and she needed help, and she was going to _fucking_ get it. “Is he special, or something?”

Keg scoffed. “Special is _one_ word for it.” She ran a hand through her greasy brown hair. “I don’t know the details, but he isn’t bought like the rest of them. He works for Ophelia Mardun, personally. Her little _dog_.” She smirked, like it was a running joke, and Beau could just picture Keg and Yuto, laughing as they shared in the local gossip. Keg didn’t look incredibly old—the darkness in her eyes aged her, and Beau didn’t want to think about how the similar weariness in her gaze, in her stance, in fucking everything, made _her_ look. She wondered if she from a month ago would’ve even recognized the person she was today, the person she was right now. The person who’d just buried one of the most insufferable people she’d ever met. Keg continued, distracting Beau from her soft spiralling, as she gestured to her armoured arm, “Left a hell of a burn, when we tried to steal her one of her shipments a few months ago.” Her smug smile turned into a grimace. “Some type of drug. _Lorenzo_ didn’t tell us the specifics.” She spit out his name. “The wizard likes fire.”

“You didn’t intercept the shipments?” Beau said, raising her head with wide eyes.

Keg nodded, and there was a _flush_ to her face, like she was _embarrassed_. She bit her bottom lip, and rubbed her jaw anxiously. “We didn’t—it was just me and Yuto, and we got _hell_ for it.” She winced, like she was remembering something particularly painful. “The only thing in our favor was that we got more information on Ophelia’s favorite footsoldier.”

Beau tilted her head, wrinkling her nose. _Favorite footsoldier_. She didn’t… have _any_ idea what that meant. “I don’t—”

“I don’t, either,” Keg said, and there was genuine bewilderment in her tone. She shrugged helplessly. “I just heard the rumors, like everyone else. There was something that was going around about how Ophelia Mardun once _fired_ her accountant, because she thought she was looking at him the wrong way. I have _no_ idea how rich people think.”

Beau had some idea, and she absentmindedly adjusted Molly’s coat as they moved, to steer clear of the muddy snow. “You think he’d work for money?” she said, her mind whirring.

Keg shrugged again, scrunching up her nose as she thought. Her shoulders then slumped. “I don’t _know_ , Beau.” She looked away. “I’m not very smart, and I don’t pick up on a lot, but I don’t—when you’re with a family, and you _turn_ , _everyone’s_ gunning for you, because you’ve proven yourself untrustworthy.” She winced, like even thinking of such a situation was painful for her. “He wouldn’t work for other _families_ for money, but maybe, if our interests align with the Marduns—”

“They would.” Beau thought of the Gentleman, and his smarmy smile, and her grip tightened on the corpse she and Keg were carrying. She watched as her knuckles whitened. _Our alliance with that fucker might even be good for something, in this nightmare._

“They might lend us some of their men.” She wrinkled her nose, and her eyes flicked to Beau, hesitant. “He, uh. I’ve heard stories, you know. Burnt corpses, laying near the boundaries of the Savalierwood. Yuto saw one, once. Said it was one of the most horrible things he’d ever seen.” She momentarily closed her eyes, like she was trying to force an image out of her head. Beau wondered if Yuto had provided a more detailed description. “Some people, who walk around with burned hand marks around their necks. Not a pleasant dude.” She widened her eyes at Beau for emphasis.

Beau exhaled, and looked to the hole they’d dug as they conversed. “Sounds to me like he might be under the thumbs of some _very_ powerful people.” She allowed herself a little smirk. “Someone who might not have that many options. He might even _thank_ us, if we play this right.” At Keg’s doubtful stare, she squared her shoulders defensively, tried not to think about how Jester would’ve beamed and encouraged Beau on her idea, and said, “Let’s just get this done.”

 

They ended up choosing The Landlocked Lady, to stay at. The Plaza Emporium would’ve been a bit more neutral, and she knew Fjord would’ve considered it a safer bet, especially with the conditions out in the main street—which, for _fuck’s_ sake. Beau had wrinkled her nose, trying to hide the extent of her building dread. They’d spotted several bodies lying unconscious and bloodied in the snow, being looted and pilfered, shoddy wagons sitting sideways up, with the wheels spinning from the vicious wind. Even a couple of the arms she’d read about, with the monks, that were leaking in from Tal’Dorei. But Beau didn’t need neutrality right now. She needed _allies_ , and as she made her way in, a gentle hand squeezing Nila’s shoulder, her boots caked with mud and dirty snow, there was a look in the proprietor’s eyes that she recognized intimately—the look of someone with connections, as superficial and skeevy as they might be.

Keg waited a second longer outside, looking with her head tilted at the tower at the center of what Beau remembered Keg had called the Clover Plaza. Beau had spotted men with crossbows and longbows keeping watch over the area, the pads on their right shoulders painted blue. When Keg came in, she widened her brown eyes at Beau looking back at her. “Thinking about allies,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her head.

Beau nodded, and looked behind Keg, to the tower still visible in the doorway. _Taskers_. Keg had mentioned them. They were willing to work for money, and some of them even gave a fuck. She clenched her jaw. As much as she wanted help, she didn’t know that she would find it in men wearing such _shitty_  armor, puffing out their chests and making themselves the moral authority in fucking _Shady Creek Run_. She doubted many would have the sheer balls to take on Lorenzo, either. She turned her attention back to the man watching them with keen eyes. He was slightly balding, with a graying handlebar mustache and beard. He wore a simple vest over a silk shirt, but as Beau looked closer, she could see it was fraying around the edges. Even the most elegant of things were substandard here. Molly, with his cheap trinkets, would’ve found this brothel just his speed. “Hey,” she said, crossing her hands over her chest, feeling a little bare without the multicolored coat. She tilted her head, and eyed him, tapping her fingers on her arm.

He raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?” His voice was exaggerated, imitating class, and Beau suddenly remembered her father, endlessly chasing approval. Her heart kind of clenched. She narrowed her eyes at the man, and opened her mouth, about to say something probably regrettable, but before she could get a word in, Keg stepped forward.

She leaned in, setting her hands down on the counter between them and the man. Nila kind of winced at the sound that splintered the relative silence, one of her ears twitching. “We need to talk to the Marduns.” Beau raised her eyebrows. This was how they were playing this, then. To the point.

A smarmy little smile played on the proprietor’s lips, as his gaze slid from Nila to Beau to Keg. He examined them all carefully, and Beau felt herself being sized up. She gave him an icy glare. “Do you?” He sounded a little disbelieving. He leaned, back, and tilted his head. “Two of you are _clearly_ not from around here.” He smirked. “Sorry, my _dears_ , but it’s all over your faces. And _you_ ”—his expression momentarily darkened, as his eyes narrowed at Keg—“I’ve been _warned_ about _you_.”

Beau watched the false smile on Keg’s face falter, setting in for momentary panic. Keg opened her mouth, and Beau could tell she was about to ask if the warning came from the fucking _Shepherds_ , and she stepped forward herself, causing the man to look back at her, a little startled. “Listen, man.” She shrugged, trying not to look like all her nerves were on fucking _fire_. “Business is business. If you don’t want our _money—_ ”

He flashed her another smile. There was something vacant about him, and _no_ , Beau decided. He wasn’t smart enough to have figured them out entirely. Somebody had tipped him off. Perhaps the Marduns had been waiting for the Mighty Five in more anticipation than she’d realized, and they kept their eyes on them on their journey… “Oh, I want your _money_ , darling.” She narrowed her eyes at his lilting tone _._ “It’s just… a clever little bird asked me to give you a fair warning.”

Beau stared at him, uncomprehending. _Why would the Marduns give a fair warning?_ She wrinkled her nose, and raised her hands, in a kind of _hold up_ motion. “Wait, I don’t _—_ ”

“Look to the Estate Sybaritic,” he said, with that eerie fucking grin. He seemed to enjoy watching her be confused, and he scratched his beard, leaning away. “You’ve caught _someone’s_ attention.” He drummed his fingers on the counter.

“Ophelia?” Beau demanded, leaning closer to him. “Ophelia Mardun?” That didn’t make any degree of sense. _The Mighty Five_ had already been paid for the service they would provide to her—in fact, she was probably _pissed_ that they’d taken so _long_ …

The proprietor's smug expression didn’t change. “That would be one gold, five silver per room.”

Beau glowered. “Companionship, please. This _is_ a brothel, right?” She thought of how Molly would’ve teased her, leaning on the counter with an eyebrow raised, and she blinked back the tears suddenly prickling in her eyes. “Companionship, and _booze_.”

She ignored the way Nila bit her bottom lip.

 

Beau stared out at the surrounding trees of the Savalierwood. They’d followed along the North Clover, which had branched out from the main street that Shady Creek Run was based around, and she heard distantly Keg mentioning something about it being fucking _cursed_. The trees looked ashen and sickly, and the leaves sprouting from the branches were an unnatural grayish purple color. As they stalked through, she winced at every sound they made, looking up at the oppressive tree canopy that made it seem  _so_ dark, and found herself missing the way the unforgiving sun had splintered into the crisp, morning air. She would’ve felt sorry for any miserable bastard who lived here, except that she was _sure_ that any who voluntarily resided in this shithole probably deserved what was coming for them.

Nila conversed with a bird, and Beau and Keg watched with fascination, and then they were led down the winding dirt road, the trees seeming almost like they were encroaching upon them. Beau watched as the buildings slowly became a little nicer, with pretty trees that had flowering colors planted around almost ornamentally, and she wondered absentmindedly what Yasha might’ve thought of them. She promised herself she would find out, looking intently at the plant as they walked past it, trying to memorize what it looked like. Keg didn’t comment, just shoving her hands in her pockets and looking down.

“You more exposed here?” Beau demanded, catching up to walk beside her.

Keg shrugged. “Closer to the Mardun estate than I would like,” she said, looking around warily. There were less people milling around here, and it felt suffocating, almost ghostly. It was just the three of them… she thought of the troll in that other forest, who’d almost killed her, and she winced. All kinds of creatures in forests. She scoffed a little to herself. _Monsters who leave corpses for bystanders to find._ Keg said, interrupting her thoughts, “That bastard had been _warned_ about me,” she hissed. There was panic in her eyes. “I’m not _important,_ I don’t—”

Beau put her hand on Keg’s shoulder. “Trust me,” she said, trying not to betray in her voice all the doubt she was feeling. “I don’t get any of this either.” She clenched her jaw, frustrated. “I don’t get what that _creep_ meant by _fair warning_ , but I doubt the Iron Shepherds _personally warned_ their hated rivals about an ex-employee.”

Keg said miserably, “You sure?” She rubbed the back of her head, and her eyes darted around nervously.

Beau gave her a sympathetic smile, and nodded to Nila. “We close?”

Nila’s voice rang out, as her eyes followed the raven, “He says so.” She turns back a little to smile at Keg. “Don’t worry,” she said, earnestly. Her hands played with the fabric on the front of her robes. “My smell bag said coming here would turn out very well.” She tilted her head, looking back ahead. “We’ll find friends,” she muttered, quieter, and Beau wondered if she was talking to herself or to them.

It wasn’t until they made their way to a two-story estate that Keg stopped walking, her eyes wide and her shoulders trembling. Beau tilted her head, assessing the clearly imported red wood exterior, and the stone fence with jutting spear tips. There was a lovely balcony to the front, and a sparse garden in front of the entrance to the building, almost beautiful in its greying, deadened form, and Beau could spot an old, faded fountain made of white marble. The guards, behind the fence, had been talking to one other casually, only stiffening as they watched Beau, Keg and Nila approach. As they paused in front of the main gate, one of the men stepped forward, with suspicion in his dark eyes, and Keg almost immediately raised her hands as recognition flitted across his eyes and his grip on his crossbow tightened. She gave Beau a panicked look.

“Raise your hands,” he said, clenching his jaw. Even in those three words, the lilting Zemnian was immediately recognizable.

Beau stepped forward, and all eyes snapped to her. “Listen—” she began.

The guard narrowed his gaze, but before she could continue speaking, the doorway to the balcony on the second level suddenly opened up, and a man looked down at them all. He wore a long, unassuming brown coat, and garish purple scarf, with faint gold embroidery on it. He leaned forward languidly, forearms resting on the railing, and she could see some type of straps over the white shirt he wore underneath. There were chains hanging on his neck, and one seemed like a silver amulet, almost religious in nature. Beau wondered absentmindedly what that must be like, to be religious in a place like this. She could feel traitorous hope expanding in her chest—maybe he was a _cleric_ , too. She could also see a beaded chain hanging that connected round glasses. He had reddish-brown hair, and he was tilting his head to her, and then to Nila, and then to Keg, and his lips curled into an unimpressed little smile.

Keg whitened beside her, and took what seemed like an almost involuntary step back. She braced her right arm, the arm she said had been _burned—_ and Beau realized, as the smile widened on his face, _exactly_ who this man was.

Beau said, no longer looking at the guard, with as calm a voice as she could manage, “We need an audience with Ophelia Mardun.” Her rough voice splintered the solemn silence, and she forced herself to relax her squared shoulders. _Play nice_. _Play these fuckers for all they have._ She thought of Fjord, and Jester, and Yasha, in chains and bloodied, and she gave Caleb Widogast a hollow smile.

There was another tense, hushed silence, as the guards looked between her and him. One of them, the one who’d begun questioning her, stepped forward to him, and began to open his mouth, but Caleb raised a hand, still looking at Beau, and the sound died in the guard’s throat. Beau raised an eyebrow at this display. So he had slightly more stature than she’d thought. She wondered how this would affect her plans for him. Caleb said, carelessly, like he had all the time in the world, “Do you?” Only the brightness in his searching eyes betrayed his smooth tone.

Beau resisted the urge to smirk, making sure her face was flat. _You’re not as hard to read as you think you are, you bastard_. He gave her a momentary, almost imperceptible frown, like he could tell what she was thinking. “And I’d _like_ an audience with _you_.”

There was a clattering noise from the other side of the fence, like someone had dropped their weapon. Beau didn’t know, because she stared Caleb down, her hands clenched into tight fists beside her. His eyes widened momentarily, like he was a little in disbelief at her forwardness. Just as doubt began to creep in, and Beau realized from looking around in the corners of her eyes just how much of a disadvantage they would be in if this came to a fight, he said, his voice soft, “Alright then.” Beau bit the inside of her cheek, a little surprised despite herself that her gamble worked, and he _—_ that  _fucker_ _—_ kind of smirked. “You may have at least one of those things.” He adjusted the scarf around his neck, and turned around, opening one of the double doors on the balcony that let into the main estate.

Beau exhaled, and exchanged a look with Keg at one of the guards stepped forward to open the gate. There was palatable fear in Keg’s face, and a little anger, too, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. “Be careful,” she hissed, widening her eyes.

Nila frowned up at the balcony, where he’d been standing. “There’s _—something_ about him. Something _off_. Like the trees.”

Beau tried to give them a reassuring smile, and moved to walk through the gate. She squared her shoulders, and thought of her lovely friends, and tried to steady her suddenly ragged breathing. She’d dance with devils for them. When they were with her, and she wasn’t _alone_ , they’d figure out _exactly_ what to do with a man who left incinerated bodies by the Savalierwood.

The dark wooden door opened for them, and she crossed the threshold.


	3. Chapter 3

Caleb tilted his head at the three of them, all wedged on a single couch, a soft smile playing on his lips. He was sitting languidly by himself, still except for the fingers running through the fur of the orange cat in his lap. The details of what he wore were even more curious up close. He’d taken off his coat, and underneath, the straps she’d spotted earlier were part of a holster that carried books on either side of him. There was an additional chain around his neck, what wasn’t from the amulet or the glasses, but the base was hidden under his shirt. He narrowed his eyes at Beau’s searching gaze, and cleared his throat, saying, dryly, “Am I to believe _you_ three are _the Mighty Five_?” He smirked a little at the name.

Beau bristled a little. The name was cheesy and awful and so _fucking_ earnest, but it was all she had of Fjord, Jester and Yasha. She exhaled, letting go of the breath she’d been holding as she'd waited for him to break the silence, and tried to relax her shoulders. They were sitting in a room that was tucked behind the grand, ornate staircase that was immediately visible from the doorway, the walls painted a somber dark red that was oppressive despite the lit lanterns attached to the walls in a patterned design and the _Dancing Lights_ that were glowing and bobbing around them. All the furniture appeared imported, and almost _exaggerated—_ the intricate designs on the cabinets a little too much, just like the gaudy portraits in the front hallway, and _this—_ this was all so intimately familiar to Beau. She looked to Caleb, who despite the occasional garishness in his dress seemed rather plain for this place, and wondered what he must’ve thought of all this. “The name’s a running joke,” she said, crossing her arms, her voice flat.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Is it _really_?” He seemed slightly intrigued, despite himself. The cat raised his head to peer with his keen eyes at Beau, as if he could sense his owner’s shift in mood. His tail flicked, and Beau was reminded of how Jester’s tail would flick, betraying all her intentions, and _Molly—_ she shook her head slightly, and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Mollymauk was _dead_ , and Beau, despite her momentary allies, who gave her worried looks and hadn't approved of her drinking until she was fucking _numb_ last night, was _alone_.

She shook her head. “No, that was, uh”—she clenched her jaw at his withering look—“that was a joke.” She winced. Fjord was  _so_ much better at this. That fucker modulated his tone for every person he fucking met, altering himself to what he knew they would want from him. Beau was fucking _shit_ at it—but Fjord had taught her something important, about learning how to channel her authenticity and frame it in a way that she could use it to get what she needed from people. She’d always been inquisitive and forceful, but _you don’t have to make it harder for yourself, Beau…_ She smiled at the memory of Fjord trying to give her advice, rubbing the back of his neck as she showed him how she smiled at people when she trying to be earnest. Fjord was good, _very_ good, but he had blind spots too. He hadn’t been involved with skeevy businesses since he’d hit his sixteenth birthday. Sometimes directness was what was needed, particularly when one was desperate. “We were attacked on our way here, and we lost most of our crew.” She stretched out her arms and looked at the bruises on her hands, and tried not to think about how Jester would’ve grabbed them and giggled as warm energy coursed through the two of them and healed all the cuts and discolouration.

“Two of them?” Caleb said, raising an eyebrow. His tone was almost conversational, but the charade was betrayed by one of his hands absentmindedly coming up and gripping the amulet that was hung by a silver chain around his neck. The symbol was a curved diamond with two opposite-facing crescent moons before it, and Beau found it distantly recognizable. She wracked her brain, and remembered it was for one of the outlawed gods the Cobalt Soul had been teaching her about… _The Archeart_ , her brain supplied her, but she was at a loss for anything else, beyond the fact that the deity was tied to arcane magic. “Have you verified their deaths?” He noticed her looking at the pendant and let it go, an almost imperceptible twitch in his face of annoyance at being caught.

She narrowed her eyes at the impersonal way he framed her friends’ deaths and imprisonment, and took a calming breath, digging her hands into the cloth of her monk vestments. She answered, evenly, “Four of them.” There was no advantage to lying—if this ended the way she wanted it to end, he would know immediately after they’d retrieved Fjord, Yasha and Jester that she’d lied brazenly to his face. Her eyes threatened to prickle a little, and she shook her head slightly to herself. “One death verified.” She wondered what _Molly_ would’ve made of this man. There was a flatness there she thought the tiefling might _love_ to challenge—testing people had been something both he and Jester adored—but she doubted they would’ve had much patience for each other. Mollymauk Tealeaf hated history, and this man, with his searching eyes and his silver pendant and his far too keen cat, was practically drowning in it. Even from the little she knew of him, she could see that much. She eyed the silver symbol, and said, her voice becoming more wavering, more vulnerable than she would’ve liked, “I know you’re a _wizard_ , but could you—” The sound died in her own throat, as he tilted his head with something that wasn’t quite pity dancing in his eyes.

“As _Keg_ here can attest,” he said, gesturing to her while maintaining his cool eyes on Beau, “my magic isn’t… of the healing variety.” Keg stiffened as he said her name, and she crossed her arms, her hard brown eyes darting to her. Beau ignored Keg’s alarmed gaze, and continued staring, with her lips pursed, at Caleb, and the way he extended his arm. It was strange… he wasn’t being sympathetic, but there was a look in his eyes, that was similar to Keg’s as they dug Molly’s grave. There was a hesitance, of a very ungentle man trying to be gentle, and he clearly saw the cool distance he was exuding as a kindness.

Beau imagined Molly cooing in her ear, _Beau, the psychotherapist_. She grimaced. _Shut up, you fucker_. She bit the inside of her cheek, annoyed despite herself. That voice,  _his_ voice, that lived in her head now, wasn't necessarily wrong, was the thing. That patience for reading other people’s intentions… that hadn’t _been there,_ a month ago. She thought of Yasha, and sitting next to her on the muddy ground, hours passing with her quiet presence, and she thought of Fjord, who actually _tried_ to understand her, and she thought of _Jester_ , who made _such_ an effort. Caleb wore wraps around his forearms, and she could only guess why. He was still probably a nightmare of a person, but he didn’t look like he’d gotten much kindness in his life. She wondered if after this was all said and done, they could commiserate with each other. She leaned back a little, intimately aware of the tense silence in the room, and crossed her arms again. “Look,” she said. “I _get_ that this wasn’t in our original deal, _but—_ ”

He hummed in agreement, interrupting her train of thought, and she watched as the cat leapt off his lap, and stalked out of the room. She waited for him to continue speaking, but he just gestured at her to continue, his gaze occasionally flitting to the room’s entrance.

She grimaced, and exchanged a look with Nila. She was staring at Caleb, her hands slightly trembling—but it wasn’t with _fear_. There was _anticipation_ in her warm eyes. She wondered if she could sense his arcane nature, or if something about the quiet confidence in the way he held himself reassured her about their own possibility of success. Beau looked back at him, and clenched her hands into fists. He registered her movement with his gaze, the neutrality on his face remaining unperturbed. “This wasn’t part of the original deal, and I know we already got paid for whatever your boss requires from us.” She watched carefully for his reaction as she said _boss_ , noticing the slightest shifting of his jaw. _So that’s a sore spot._ She tried to keep her own face flat. “But if we do the favor you require, we, uh. We need assistance. We’d be willing to pay.”

Caleb watched her silently, his eyebrows furrowing. He then looked at Keg, almost scornfully. “You _did_ tell her how it works here, right?” The contempt in his voice splintered the quiet like porcelain shattering against the marble floor.

Keg balled her hands into fists, a flush to her face. “It _isn’t_ against the family,” she said, roughly. She looked like she _desperately_ needed a smoke. “I know—my history. Our history.” She ran her hand through her hair, and Caleb's eyes followed the movement, as he leaned back into the couch. “I'm _not_ with _them_ anymore.” She hissed _them_ like an incantation, and Caleb’s eyes seemed to _glitter_. Beau opened her mouth to redirect the conversation, but Nila suddenly turned, interrupting the sound in her throat.

“Hmmm,” a new voice said, their accent lilting. Beau felt a chill run down her spine at the contemptuousness practically _dripping_ from it. A woman entered the room with a confident, aggressive gait, her hair long and inky and flowing behind her, and her skin an even, dark gray. Horns protruded off of her forehead, and her lovely mouth curved into a smug, domineering smile. Her pupil-less yellow eyes were sharp, and Beau watched as her gaze slid through all three of them, before finally resting on Caleb. Two guards followed in closely behind her. It was _obvious_ who she was.

Caleb bowed his head in subservience, straightening his back and flattening his face. Beau narrowed her eyes, and tried to get a read on how he felt with Ophelia Mardun’s intruding presence, but his dark eyes gave away _nothing_. Any facsimile of warmth he’d offered them earlier was gone.

 _Fuck_ , Beau thought, trying not to let her frustration be visible on her face. Keg’s face had whitened beside her.

Ophelia bit her bottom lip, revealing two sharp canines. She stalked forward, every sound her heels making against the hard floor making Keg beside her wince. Beau gave her what she hoped was a comforting pat on her shoulder, and turned back, watching the cat slink between Ophelia’s legs. “So,” she purred. Her Zemnian accent was positively _cloying_ , and she seemed to enjoy the discomfort she was causing the group, despite their attempt to hide it. Her guards trailed behind her, and took positions beside the couch, as she sat beside Caleb and put a possessive hand on his knee. Beau tried to see his reaction to her closeness, but he just gave Ophelia an insincere smile. She looked back at them, crossing one leg over the other. “You’ve turned against _one_ family.” She tilted her head, and looked to Caleb, raising an eyebrow. “Is she asking you to something _obscene_ , my dear?”

“Just warming them up for you,” he said, and there was something lilting about him, about his voice. He raised the hand on his lap momentarily, and the cat jumped up onto him. He rested his hand back down on the soft fur, and examined his nails. “It appears my preliminary assessment was correct.” He sounded disinterested, but the way that he allowed her in but didn’t initiate any contact, how he was friendly but not overly invested—there was a game being played that Beau wasn’t privy to, would probably never be privy to, and it kind of pissed her off.

She focused on what he’d already revealed. _Preliminary assessment_ … She widened her eyes, and remembered the proprietor's smarmy look, when he’d said a little bird had told him to give them a _fair warning_ — “You watched it all _happen_?” she hissed, clenching her hands into fists. “Did you watch my friend _die_?” Her plan was quickly falling apart… she’d hoped for more time alone to pressure him, but maybe there was nothing she could’ve done, if this was the type of man who’d allow mercenaries who owed his people to be _butchered_ in the _snow_. She imagined stumbling across incinerated bodies in the Savalierwood, and momentarily wondered why she was even trying to _negotiate_ with this man.

Ophelia ignored her furious accusation, still watching Caleb intently with lidded eyes, but his gaze flicked to her. He sighed, and snapped his fingers, and Beau watched with startled eyes as the cat disappeared. He then snapped his hand again, and the cat reappeared back into his lap, and hissed, sounding disgruntled. “Frumpkin is a cat,” he said, very seriously, and it was only the oppressiveness of the room, and the moment, that she didn’t crack a smile at the name. Nila let out a soft sound of delight beside her. “Frumpkin doesn’t _need_ to be a cat.” He sounded like he’d explained this many times, and Ophelia examined the buttons on her coat disinterestedly as he smiled at the animal on his lap. “Frumpkin could be a _falcon_ , who spotted _you_ , and this _delightful_ _dwarf_ ”—he gestured to Keg a little dismissively—“burying something, or _someone_ , in the snow.” He tilted his head, and said, his eyes dark, “There was _nothing_ I could’ve done.”

Beau let the harsh silence in the room after he finished his explanation weigh her down for just a moment, and then grounded herself in the heat emanating from Nila and Keg on either side of her. They were so close on the couch that they were touching, but, at least in this moment, she was grateful for the contact. She noticed Ophelia’s jaw clench almost imperceptibly, which confirmed Beau’s earlier suspicions. This was him being _empathetic_. This was him trying to _comfort her_. She wanted to bark out a rough little laugh, but she swallowed the sound in her throat. “As I was saying earlier,” she continued, tensing her crossed arms at all the new eyes on her, “I know this is out of the terms of agreement, but if I did the favor my team has already been _partially_ compensated for, we’d prefer assistance in saving my enslaved friends than the rest of the money we’re owed.”

Ophelia’s fingers drummed on Caleb’s knee. “Your compensation is a _pre-existing arrangement_ ,” she said, icily. “I already made a deal with the _Gentleman_.” Caleb let out a small, breathless little laugh at the mention of him, and Ophelia’s mouth twitched back into her smug smile. Her eyes still flashed with annoyance, despite her apparent softness for the man beside her, and Beau could feel her heart sinking. _Coming here was a mistake_. She’d have to do Ophelia’s task _and_ save her friends, all without allies except the ones beside her. Ophelia opened her mouth, probably to continue to berate her, but then Caleb leaned in, and said something softly in Zemnian, his voice soft and calm. Her head snapped to him, and her response was much more harsh. The guards watched their little exchange, their wide eyes flitting back and forth between them, and _finally_ , Ophelia looked back at Beau, and she said, her voice more composed than Beau would’ve expected considering her previous hardness, “It seems today is your lucky day.”

She heard Keg’s caught breath, and could feel hope expanding in her own chest, but she forced herself to school her face and look neutral. She leaned forward, and let her elbows rest on her knees. “You’d be willing to provide some aid?”

She smiled tightly. “It’s your _lucky day_ , because the job you were already compensated for was to murder every _fucking_ person in the Sour Nest that is not in chains.” She let go of Caleb’s knee, and gestured to him, and this time the mild annoyance flitting across her face was directed at _him_. He tilted his head, looking unbothered. “Not many people have an agent in the Estate Sybaritic who has already been making their casebefore they’ve even arrived.”

Keg rubbed her facial hair, looking stunned at him. Beau could commiserate. “ _You—_ ” she said, both her hands out in a _hold up_ motion. Her voice was stiff with disbelief. “But _you—_ ”

He shrugged. The cat _—Frumpkin_ , she reminded herself _—_ purred in his lap, and his lips quirked up a little. “Don’t get _soft_ on me,” he said, one of his hands reaching out and grabbing hold of the silver amulet around his neck again. “It’s just business. The Gentleman has let the family down” _—_ both he and Ophelia smirked at that, and Beau wondered if it was one of their inside jokes _—_ “but now we must pick up the slack.” He paused, and winced, and then looked to Ophelia, squaring his shoulders. It almost seemed _defensive_. “I sent a little message, telling them not to bother to come and waste your time, unless they were up to the challenge.”

Both the guards and Beau widened their eyes. She’d _suspected_ , but she hadn’t expected him to come _clean…_ Ophelia said, very pleasantly, interrupting Beau’s furiously whirring thoughts, “Did _you?_ ”

Caleb shrugged, the casualness of his gesture betrayed by the tension in his shoulders. Beau wanted to grab him and shake him furiously. _Why would you tell her that, you useless motherfucker? You_ never _voluntarily confess to a crime._ “I knew I’d be taking care of this regardless.” His tone was clipped. “I need people who aren’t cowed by one _fucking_ death.” The harshness of his remark sounded performative, but it didn’t stop Beau from momentarily glowering at him.

Ophelia said, leaning closer to him, her eyes fixated on him a little dangerously, “Did _you?_ ” Her hand was back on his knee, trailing up a little, and she said something in Zemnian, which made the careful construction of his face crack for just a second.

Beau said, suddenly, not thinking straight, just desperate to get her sudden, _dickish_ ally out of the intensity of Ophelia’s scrutiny, “You make a _lovely_ couple.” Both they and the guards behind them froze at that, and all their gazes snapped back to her. She shrank into herself, and Keg watched her with horrified eyes, her hands raised to hide her face. “I _mean—_ ” She wrung her hands, meeting Caleb’s gaze, and _he—_

He looked _amused_. He rubbed at his neck, his face flat but the lightness was evident in the stance of his shoulders, in the tilt of his face. His searching eyes met hers, and there was a renewed brightness there, like he was really looking at her for the first time. _Hello, motherfucker_ , she thought, trying not to flush in embarrassment at what she’d just said. _I’m glad you could join us._

After a horrifying couple of seconds, Ophelia’s lips curled into a haughty little smile. “Oh, no, _darling_.” She practically _purred_ that last word. “He’s not my lover, but he is _mine_.” She shook her head a little, like she was a little in disbelief. “Desperation makes fools of us all,” she muttered to herself, and then she straightened her back. Her gaze became a little more distant, her face more business-like. “My open line of shipments to Zadash through the Gentleman has been very profitable for many years.” She gritted her teeth slightly. “However, my very generously compensated and _competent_ smugglers were murdered just over a month ago. It was the Jagentoths.” She spit their name out. “I believe in reciprocity.” She looked at Caleb meaningfully as she said _reciprocity_ , and his jaw clenched. She turned back. “Murder the Iron Shepherds.”

“With _his_ help?” Beau said, tilting her head to Caleb. She remembered Keg’s face when she’d said, _The wizard likes fire_. She thought seeing Lorenzo’s face incinerated might be a little beautiful to watch.

Ophelia looked back at him, her smile turning a little brittle. “It appears so.” Her tone was a little scornful, and _yeah_ , there was _definitely_ something else happening here, a conversation underneath a conversation, and Beau could _feel_ herself becomingcurious. “Do _not_ let this trace back to me.” Her voice was sharp.

“Naturally,” he responded, shifting his body to look at her more fully. He watched her intent eyes, and his own gaze became a little darker as he watched her bite her lower lip. Beau felt almost like she was _intruding_. Keg beside her made a soft sound, like she was a little horrified.

Ophelia said, her voice almost amused, still not looking away, “Send them through the back route. He’ll join them momentarily.”

Beau looked intently to Caleb, and jutted out her chin to the guards, tensing her shoulders. She knew it was unlikely Ophelia would do anything to her own man, but she felt a sudden, blistering protectiveness over this person she’d just met, who was central to her plan to save the only real friends she’d ever had. _All my remaining friends_ , she thought bitterly. She opened her mouth to protest, but Frumpkin suddenly got up on Caleb’s lap and almost imperceptibly shook his head.

One of the two guards grabbed onto her, and she sighed. “Don’t be late,” she muttered to Caleb, and he nodded. She allowed herself to be led through an empty dining chamber, and tried to give a reassuring nod to Nila and Keg, as they were led in behind her. It was all as garish as the entrance, with everything too gaudy and too intricate and too imported and too _much_ , and Beau wondered if it was always so exhausting to exist in this estate all the fucking time. She almost asked the guard, but then they were pulled into a small storage room, the walls completely covered by stacked brown boxes all the way up to the ceiling. There was a hidden staircase that they were then led through, much more humble than the one by the entrance, and the small room they were then led into had a relatively well-hidden trap door.

Beau met Nila and Keg’s gazes, and then sighed, slumping her shoulders, and walked through first, finding herself in a wine cellar. She raised her eyebrows back at the guard, and he ignored her look, grabbing her arm again and leading her through an underground tunnel. She resisted the urge to break free, which she could do _so_ easily that it was painful to have to bear his _sweating_ grip on her— _Don’t fuck this up_ , she thought to herself. _Not now_.

Eventually they made it to another wooden door. The guard let go of her, and knocked on it in a complicated pattern that that Beau tried, and then failed, to memorize. It opened, and a filthy, unassuming man looked at them with weary eyes, before walking back to the bench he’d been sitting on. They were in the Savalierwood, and the trees were still oppressive and horrifying, and Beau was so _fucking_ glad to see them again. They were pushed out, and the door snapped closed behind them.

Keg immediately sank to the ground, and ran her hands through the snow on the ground, letting go of the breath she was holding. Beau resisted the urge to do the same, finding herself completely drained by Ophelia’s mere presence. She wondered what it must be like to work for her, to be around her demanding and alluring personality all thetime, and grimaced to herself. Soon she’d no longer have to wonder. Soon she’d be able to ask.

Nila looked up at the trees around them, her face in a frown. “Something’s _wrong_ , here,” she said, a little miserably. Her ears flattened against her head. The corruption of the forest seemed to weigh more heavily on her than Beau and Keg, and Beau wondered if it was something _arcane_ in nature, that was making it slightly harder for Nila to be here. Or maybe Beau and Keg were just _assholes_ , who gave less of a fuck about the shit around them. Either was likely. “Something’s _wrong_ here, and I can’t tell what.”

Beau opened her mouth to assure her, not knowing what the _fuck_ she could possibly say to make this, any of this, even remotely better, but was interrupted by the sounds of the same patterned knock from earlier. They all turned to the unassuming wooden door, Keg stumbling up and brushing the snow off of her armored legs. They watched the old man wearily get up from his bench, and open the door again, and they watched Caleb Widogast walked out, the cat around his neck like a scarf.

He wore his brown coat, with a simple blue scarf that fluttered in the wind. He was wearing his round glasses on his face, and held an opened book in his hands, mouthing words to himself as he flipped through the pages. Frumpkin raised his head, and  _hissed_ when he saw them. Caleb looked up, a little startled, and seeing all their gazes on him, his lips curved into a soft little smile. Satisfaction practically _radiated_ off of him.

Beau raised an eyebrow. So he’d won whatever little game was being played by him and Ophelia. She didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing. “What the _fuck—_ ” she began, but he raised his index finger in a shushing motion, his eyes wide and looking warningly at the old fucker sitting on the bench, casually reading a newspaper. She closed her mouth, pressing her lips into a tight line, and as he passed her, walking in an unfamiliar path in the woods, she turned and began to follow, nodding to Nila and Keg and gesturing for them to do the same.

They walked in silence for about five minutes. Beau tried to focus on the sounds she _could_ hear, to stop herself from _going mad—_ the birds chirping, the crunch of the snow under all of their boots, the occasional twig snapping. Just when Beau was about to get fed up with waiting for him to initiate the conversation, and opened her mouth to demand answers out of him, he suddenly turned to her.

There was a strange excitement in his light blue eyes. He looked so fucking _pleased_ , and Beau wondered if he’d managed to use them more than they were going to use him. “Well, then _,_ ” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “Let’s _talk_.”


End file.
